


Drabble it Forward: FOB+Related Bands+Crossover

by megyal



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Fuck City, Gym Class Heroes, Live Free or Die Hard (2007), Panic! at the Disco, The Sounds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Crossover, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-16
Updated: 2008-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this meme: <i>Make a post inviting people to request drabbles in the fandoms you write; any number of commenters you can handle. But the catch is, once someone makes a request, they also have to post the meme, and drabble it forward.</i>. These had been the ones for the Fall Out Boy (Bandom RPS) fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We've been good, but we can't last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jon Walker/Patrick Stump wampyre verse; Christmas Eve. The Patrick/Jon wampyre verse had been something I had been writing with another writer. The other writer gave up on it and me.

"Merry Christmas." Jon's voice was sated and sleepy as he lay on his stomach in Patrick's large bed, his head pillowed on his folded arms. Patrick's hand, which had been tracing lazy circles on Jon's back, paused.

"It's midnight already?" he asked, turning to look at the ornate clock on his bedside table. "Oh. Well, Merry Christmas. Wow, I was totally distracted by... well, you know."

Jon grinned, not opening his eyes. Patrick's hand started its gentle movement again as faint singing floated through the large open french windows.

"So. You want your present now? Or later?" Jon opened his eyes, still smiling as his gaze met Patrick's surprised expression. "Oh, I see: you thought you'd just be buying your little pet that huge expensive gift and not expecting anything in return?"

"You're not my pet, I would never think that," Patrick said with stiff reproach, pulling his hand away. Jon reached out and grasped his wrist, squeezing it a little.

"I was kidding," he chided and Patrick frowned. "Come on, I was _kidding_."

Patrick's face remained stony for a few more beats and Jon was gearing himself for an argument, when the tight line of his lips relaxed.

"Okay." One corner of those full lips quirked. "My present?"

Jon slipped out of bed and went to where he had thrown his overnight bag when they had stumbled inside the room hours earlier. He withdrew a long box and strolled back to bed, feeling the weight of Patrick's appreciative stare.

As he handed Patrick the box, Patrick's fingers closed over his, pulling him close for a long, slow kiss.

"Hey," Patrick whispered after a long, breathless moment. "I have to tell you, I got my gift already."

"You did?"

"Yeah," Patrick said and kissed him again. "You."


	2. Gather near to us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt/Andy; Prompt: Christmas with family.

When the bell rang, Anne immediately wiped her hands on a dishtowel, hurrying towards the front door. It rang again even before she got halfway there, because her son liked to rile her up sometimes.

She shook her head, smiling. He'd called her up and told her he'd be coming a day early this year, and that he'd be bringing someone. Anne had tried hard not to sound too excited over the phone.

"Someone _special_ ," Andy had clarified; Anne's eyebrows had nearly brushed at her hairline, because Andy rarely did _special_.

"Special?" was all she managed to get out.

"Yeah. That's okay, right?"

"Andrew John _Hurley_ ," she had remonstrated, and Andy's exhale had been sharp and amused. "It's more than okay. Make sure you get here early."

Now, she pulled open the door and smiled as Andy stepped inside with a burst of cold air, pulling back the hood of his jacket and hugging her tightly.

Anne took the rare opportunity to tuck strands of wild hair behind his ears, hugging him back and even rocking him a little as she murmured her welcome. Her fierce, opinionated son. She had a sudden clear image of him as a very little boy, scowling at bigger children as they teased him about his hair and his clothes. Anne fervently hoped that this Someone Special could match his particular brand of stubborn strength.

The Someone Special had stepped inside while Anne had been caught up in her musing and Andy released her, taking a step back and half-turning towards them.

"Mom," Andy said carefully, "you remember Matt?"

"What the hell are you talking about, of _course_ I know... Oh. _Oh_." Anne's brain caught up with her mouth and she blinked up at Matt's broadly handsome face, which had an unusual tinge of uncertainty. She liked Matt, a lot. He made Andy laugh and took care of him.

What else could a mother want?

"Well, come on in, stop letting out all the heat!" she exclaimed with a wide grin and they exchanged relieved glances, shrugging off their coats. She wanted to laugh at them and their obviously silly worries, but sometimes... sometimes it was good to keep young people on their toes.

 _fin_.


	3. Kiss him once for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from elessar@LJ: Patrick/anyone in your entire imagination; mistletoe shenanigans

It was a stupid hat, and Patrick only agreed to put it on for two reasons:

1\. Pete had that threatening gleam in his eye, and Patrick really wasn't in a mood to spar with him over a hat. It was _Pete's_ Christmas party, after all.  
2\. Who was going to kiss him, anyway?

So he'd grabbed the red-and-white hat, with its cheerful KISS ME emblazoned across the front and the dangling sprig of fake mistletoe; removing his own baseball cap, he jammed it over his hair. Pete had smiled at him, a small mocking curl of his lips and Patrick had wrinkled his nose in return, wandering off to get some juice.

First person to accost him had been Maja.

"Hello," she said in her gravelly voice, one hand perched on her hip, the other gripping a tall glass filled with a luridly coloured drink. She turned her head slightly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, if you insist."

"If I insist wha--" Patrick blinked as Maja leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. She smelled of smoke and perfume, and her lips were a little dry.

"Merry Christmas, Patrick," she said with a wink as she pulled back and sauntered off.

"Oh no she didn't!" Someone exclaimed from his elbow and Patrick was bemused to find himself being twirled like a top; Brendon flung his arms around Patrick's neck, kissing him enthusiastically. "Alright!" he yelled, and sprinted away.

It must have been a huge joke, like some _planned_ thing, Patrick pondered dazedly about twenty kisses later. Gabe used _tongue_ , that was actually expected and Travis laughingly bent him back as if they were in some old movie. Will had actually sat in his lap, and as soon as he crawled off, smiling slyly, Frankie had leaped onto him, peppering his cheek happily.

Ryan had grandly bestowed one on him as if Patrick had _begged_ him to; Jon's kiss was soft and kind of really, really nice; even Joe had given him one, in a hey-bro kinda way, loud and smacking and happy.

"Ok, that's enough," Pete said low as he cornered Patrick in the messy kitchen as the last of the guests yelled their farewells. "Fuck, if I knew they'd have a field day, I wouldn't make you put on that stupid hat."

Patrick opened his mouth to say something very sarcastic and dry, and found Pete's tongue suddenly slipping against his own. Pete dragged the hat from his head even as Patrick sighed and leaned against him, jamming it into his own back pocket.

"I mean," Pete told him between long, dragging kisses, "One or two, but everybody? Ridiculous."

"I know," Patrick groaned. "Not sure why."

Pete drew back and stared at him, one eyebrow raised. His incredulous expression melted into an indulgent grin.

"You've never noticed your own mouth, that's okay," he said and kissed Patrick again. "But tell you what: it's like the best christmas gift ever, _believe_ me on this one."


	4. Four Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from justranda@LJ: Jon Walker/Joe Trohman: first time sex, perhaps stoned. **Drug Use**

First time Joe had his dick in some other dude's mouth was with Jon Walker, and holy shit, was it _awesome_. 

It might have been awesome due to the fact that they'd been hanging around Jon's place, lighting up and enjoying a balmy, quiet day. Now and again, Jon would hum something random, and Joe would expound on any thought that floated lazily through his mind, and then Jon had said, "Hey, hey. Trohman. Nice day for sex."

The logic of it made sense to Joe, even as it eluded him at the same time.

So he said, "Sure is!" because, yeah. It sure was. Jon laughed and took a long drag from his joint, sliding down out of the lawn-chair even as he exhaled a double-plume of sharply fragrant smoke. Joe squinted down at him, dreamily watching as he knelt between Joe's spreadeagled legs, fingers expertly unsnapping and unzipping Joe's jeans.

Joe blinked down at Jon's curved mouth, holding his breath as those lips slipped over the head of his cock; this part of his anatomy had been fairly laid-back up til now, but it was coming to life... a _lot_ of life.

Joe exhaled, smoke obscuring his view just slightly. He twitched his hips and gave his joint a very appreciative stare as Jon's head bobbed up and down his lap.

"This," he muttered, "is some good shit."


	5. Pete Wentz Must Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From canadasuperhero@LJ: FOB|DH4: Idk, Pete is always in trouble. Live Free Die Hard Crossover

"I have a crazy stalker fan," Pete informs his band; they laugh a little and he does too, before saying, "No, for real."

"You... you sound kind of proud of it." Patrick's face was disbelieving. "And. Okay, so what are we going to do about that."

"Throw him to the wolves," Andy suggested.

"I love you, too, Hurley," Pete said drily. "I'm getting another bodyguard. You know how you have BNF's in fandom?"

None of them had any idea what a BNF was. Pete flapped his hands impatiently at them.

"Whatever, so this dude I'm getting? If the police force was fandom, he'd be a BNF."

"You keep saying these things, no-one understands what you _mean_ ," Joe complained. "It's so fucking confusing."

"Tell me about it," a very dry voice came from the door of their bus and this bald dude stepped up, looking at them with a wary, measured gaze. "John McClane. New bodyguard."

"Aren't you that guy that blows up a lot of shit?" Andy's eyes were curious behind his glasses, and when McClane nodded, he leaned towards Pete, whispering, "I like this one."

"Are you sure this guy can handle you, Pete?" Patrick asked suspiciously, and gave McClane a sidelong glance. "I mean. He's just one dude."

"I have my... _assistant_ ," McClane said heavily, and a slender dark-haired dude peeped from behind John's shoulder, waving. Pete waved back merrily.

"Matt Farrell," Pete introduced him with a big grin. "He's the software to John's hardware. My crazy stalker fan has no chance!"

"Yeah, we'll track them down in no time," Farrell said easily. "Just gimme your laptop, and we'll backtrack the signal in your threatening emails."

"I like this one too," Andy whispered, and when McClane frowned at him, Andy just smiled back.

"I have to keep the kid close to me at all times," John rumbled and put a strangely possessive hand on Farrell's shoulder. "So he doesn't get into trouble."

"Oh god," Patrick breathed, and shot Pete a look of long-suffering. "I know _exactly_ how you feel."


	6. this way you will always know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: complete

Pete grimaced as the tattoo-artist worked quickly, twisting his left ring finger.

"Don't break it, Alex," he muttered in reprimand and the Alex's eyes flicked up at him, amused, before going back to work. Pete fleetingly wished that Patrick was here beside him, but Patrick claimed that he didn't like watching Pete get inked; said it made him overly anxious.

Pete could hear him, though: he was down in the kitchen, puttering about and singing random snatches of song and even rapping a bit. Pete smiled: Master P. Steezurp, laying down the beats. If Pete had his way, Patrick would probably be the next punk rapper, but Patrick just laughed him off.

"Okay," Alex said in satisfaction and released Pete's hand. Pete held out his hand, peering at the design.

"Hey, Patrick!" he yelled and the Alex actually jumped a little. Pete snickered at him.

"What?!"

"Come on up, he's done!"

Patrick peered through the door as Alex dressed and wrapped Pete's finger as best as he could, what with the funny angle; he walked over to the table Alex and Pete had been using, picking up the silver ring, the design of which Alex had been transfering to Pete's finger, with some embellishments of course.

"Hey, wait." Pete frowned up at him as Patrick began to slip the ring back where it belonged, on his own left hand. "Dude. That's my job."

Patrick had to wait until Alex packed up and bid them farewell, before Pete took up the ring with as much drama as he could muster, placing it on Patrick's finger. His hands were warm and dry and confident.

"So," Patrick murmured as Pete leaned in. "The only way you'll lose that ring--"

"--is if I lose that fucking finger, yeah yeah." Pete's lips brushed against his. "On there forever."


	7. Over your head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from blurred_affairs@LJ: Patrick/Andy: mistletoe. AU.

"Professor Hurley?"

Andy froze in the middle of stacking his papers neatly together. His last class for the year had just ended, and he'd spent nearly all of it carefully not looking at the pale skin of the student in the second row, with wisps of gold-red hair escaping from under a hat and begging for his attention.

"Patrick," he said without turning around, reaching for his battered bag, stuffing papers in. "Did you forget something?"

There was no answer. Andy fought a grimace. It was kind of a huge problem that he wasn't much older than the people he taught in Anthropology, because he related to them almost too well. Other problems included the fact that he and this particular student were apparently into the same kind of music, and had come across each other at a club a couple of days ago; they'd ended up laughing and enjoying themselves, prudently staying out of way of the flailing moshers and leaning against a wall, nodding to the music of the enthusiastic band.

Patrick had been singing along, and he'd sounded pretty good, but only laughed when Andy had expressed surprise. He'd also inspected Andy's ink with deep interest, because in class Andy's shirt-sleeves covered the designs on his upper arms, which hadn't managed to reach all the way to his wrists as yet (next paycheck, definitely). 

He had touched Andy's arms with unconcious sensuality and something about the way he smiled or maybe how his voice got low and rough had stuck to Andy's brain and cock. Patrick's eyes had gleamed, even as they stood in shadow; his fingers had hooked into the loops of Andy's jeans, inviting him forward with gentle tugs.

Patrick's mouth had indeed been as kissable as it looked.

Andy cleared his throat now, and chanced a look over his shoulder. Patrick was gazing back with a shuttered expression.

"Yes? What is it?" Andy was trying really hard to sound like a well-seasoned lecturer, a _good_ one, not one who went around kissing students in dimly lit bars.

"I just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas."

"I don't celebrate it," Andy said shortly and wondered how soon Patrick would leave, so he could apply his head to the surface of the desk. Repeatedly.

"I know." Patrick's hand was on his shoulder, and before Andy could marvel at how fast and silently he moved, he was being rurned around. Patrick waved something green over his head and he managed to gape stupidly at it before Patrick was pressing against him, warm and solid and perfect, li[s parted against his. He sucked gently on Andy's tongue when Andy gave up completely and slipped it inside his mouth, moaning softly.

"I just. I made up a stupid reason to do that," Patrick said with a bright flush on his cheeks when they parted, breathing hard. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the bunch of fake mistletoe as he showed Andy. "But, you know, this is. I mean, if you want to consider it, remember that I graduate next semester. So. Yeah."

Until then, Andy thought, he was still his _student_. He took a deep breath and stepped away, putting at least four paces between them. Patrick's face was a picture of discouraged disappointment until Andy murmured, "I've considered it. I'm a very patient man. I've heard good things come to those who wait."

Patrick's eyes lit up, and his smile was a delighted quirk at one corner of his lips. He nodded once and walked out, leaving the bright mistletoe on the desk.

Andy gazed at it for a very long time, and smiled.


	8. A love song in my own way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from shirasade@LJ: Pete/Patrick: "I wanna scream 'I love you' from the top of my lungs."

"Pete," Patrick sighed over the phone and Pete squirmed. Patrick sighing did _things_ to his body.

Sexyfun things. Things that involved sweaty skin and low harmonic moans and the intense desire to stick his hands down Patrick's jeans.

"Yeah?" Damn, his voice sounded like he was a teen again, cracking over that one word.

"I can't sing this." 

Pete could hear the reproach in his voice, even as papers shuffled in the background; he smirked a little. Even though Patrick claimed his inability to sing something, he was probably over there composing the hell out of the words Pete had sent him, placing them in delightful lyrical cascades.

Pete pretended ignorance. "What d'you mean, man?"

"This!" 

Pete grinned, seeing very clearly in his mind's eye how Patrick was holding up a sheaf of paper with his handwriting, shaking it indignantly. Patrick's eyes were probably sparking in that way which no camera could ever catch, cheeks flushed.

Oh snap; Pete really needed to come to terms with this whole Gay-For-Patrick-Stump thing, because just that thought _alone_ had him hyperventilating.

"I just. This isn't something I can, you know, it's just too close and deep, whatever. It's just too _much_. I don't know."

"It's just how I feel." Pete had decided that calm persistence was the way to go, because Patrick _was_ going to sing it, even if it killed him. He wanted people to hear, and he wanted them to hear how he felt in Patrick's voice. It would be the best ever, no lie.

People were going to fucking _cry_ over it.

"I. It's just not me," Patrick said doubtfully. "This can't be... about _me_."

As always, Pete felt a helpless anger at this, same as he did everytime Patrick spouted self-deprecating shit. Although, honestly, it was probably the same way Patrick felt when he mocked himself, so there was that.

"It's you," he said firmly and there was another sigh, but it didn't sound as unsure as before. "It's all you," he finished and held his breath a little.

"Oh." Patrick managed to sound pleased and scared at the same time. Pete had an idea how he felt. "It's just... oh. Okay."

Wisely, Pete refrained from telling him that he wanted to scream _I love you_ at the top of his lungs; but in any case, having Patrick sing it was infinitely better.


	9. make you as lonely as me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From sobota@LJ: patrick/spencer. (Mentions of Patrick/Bob).

...and with every slide of skin upon skin, Spencer's mouth is pressed against the lobe of Patrick's left ear, calling, calling.

Not his name; not any other name, just a word... no, just a sound that is an inarticulation of anger, helplessness, need and want, and not really a word at all.

Patrick has an idea of how he might feel.

*

Spencer's eyes are angry. Even though his mouth looks soft, he kisses like he is punishing both Patrick and himself. Patrick takes it, takes it all and soothes it before giving it back. It's not his fault; it's not Spencer's fault. Shit happens and people fall apart, things end.

Patrick knows this more than anyone, that people crumple as easy as anything. Now, Spencer's skin feels papery under his gripping fingers, as if he'll tear to pieces if Patrick isn't careful.

Patrick says, "Okay?" because the side of Spencer's face is tight, and Patrick stops pushing.

Spencer makes an impatient sound; he arches his back, clenches around Patrick's cock and snaps, "Get to it," so Patrick does, slipping in further.

Spencer moans, "Fuck," when Patrick's cock brushes up against his prostate and he shudders, gasping.

Patrick licks the smooth line of his shoulders, tells him, "It's going to be okay," and he's not sure if he's talking about the fucking or life in general.

*

Spencer insists on facing Patrick for his turn. Patrick doesn't really mind; Spencer isn't as heavy as Bob, which is kind of too bad, really; he's also not as thick as Bob, and he doesn't have that intense expression Bob always has, looking at Patrick as if he was perplexed about something and Patrick had all the answers (Patrick never has the answers, he only appears as if he might). Whereas Bob stares intently right into Patrick's eyes, making Patrick flush and want to cover his face with the pillow, Spencer simply buries his face into the curve of Patrick's shoulder, breath hot through the material of Patrick's sweat-soaked t-shirt.

He whispers; it filters through the black cotton of the shirt, flattens against Patrick's skin; Patrick cups the back of his head, his hair wet against Patrick's fingers. He's going too fast and too hard, and Patrick closes his eyes and breathes into it.

After, Spencer wants to smoke some shit in his bed. Patrick tells him to fuck off, grinning, and Spencer actually laughs. It's a little bitter, that laugh, but it doesn't sound as desperate as it did when Spencer first showed up at his door.

*

"Does Bryar mind?" Spencer asks, perched on the railing of Patrick's back porch, which is really too small to be called that, but hey, it's not like Patrick sleeps out here. He's not looking at Patrick, who is seated like a regular person in a regular chair; but people need to be weird now and again, Patrick figures. Unless you're Pete or Ryan. Then you get to be weird all the time.

"I don't think so," Patrick says, and he doesn't mean to sound so defensive, but Spencer glances at him sideways with a small, wry smile.

"You know what." Spencer is staring back out into the sunset, dark hair blowing away from his face in the crisp breeze. "I think it's going to be okay."


	10. You can be my Optimus Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for cloudsofsmoke@LJ: something Christmassy, pls? Sticky like candy floss and hot like fire. Candy floss on fire? Cracktastic. Baby!Psquared.

Pete Wentz sat within his secure fort of chairs and a blanket, peeking out at that little redhaired baby boy.

He pouted; his mother said he was too big to be doing that and besides, his face might stick that way, but Pete didn't _care_. He'd thought he was gonna have his mom and the whole house to himself today, all warm and cosy while the snow flurried outside. Just him and his mom, probably drinking chocolate and reading _Where The Wild Things Are_. His dad had gone on some work thing, and his brother and sister were at an aunt's house and it was supposed to be a Petey-day! But _no_ , a friend of his mother's had come around, frantically talking to his mom in the foyer.

"Thanks so much, Dale," she had said, while Pete had been eavesdropping from the landing. "I really appreciate this, I'll be back this evening."

"No problem, Pat." Dale's voice had been warm as she had taken a warmly-wrapped baby out of her friend's arms; the baby had started a fuss, reaching out for his mother as she placed his bag on the chair near the door.

"It's okay, Patrick!" The baby's mother had said and kissed him. "It's okay, stay with Dale for today."

" _Nooo_." The baby's voice had been surprisingly loud and a little hoarse, and he'd cried a lot when the door closed on his mother. He'd quit crying though, when Pete's mother had taken off his blue hoodie and warm pants, dressing him in a shirt and shorts from his bag and setting him loose in the family room; luckily, the Christmas tree was located in what Pete's mother called the sitting room. Pete had an idea that if the baby was placed in there, he'd probably try eat the lights. As a matter of fact, Pete himself wanted to eat those lights sometimes, they were pretty.

"Watch him for a little, Petey," his mother had said. "I'm just going to make some lunch, ok?"

"I don't like him," Pete had told her, but his mother had laughed and ruffled his curls. Pete was a veteran at this baby-watching stuff anyway, what with his two younger siblings. _One_ baby was a piece of cake.

Besides, Patrick was just toddling around, humming to himself and pulling down the cushions from the sofas, laughing a little when they fell with a thump. He was a plump little thing, with a shock of really nice red hair that Pete wanted to pull on, just to see if it was as fine as it looked. He'd never seen anyone with hair like that before.

Patrick turned around, wobbling a little and blinking. His eyes were big and a curious shade of grey-blue; they widened even more when he realised that there was someone peering at him from behind the blankets Pete had draped over the chairs as the roof of his fort.

Pete scrambled back, but the baby yelled nonsensically, as babies do, " _Wasder_!" and Pete heard his bare feet moving across the carpet; little pale hands pawed at the blankets fruitlessly for a few moments, until they found the opening and yanked them apart.

"Go away," Pete told him, glaring half-heartedly. Stealer of mommy-time.

Patrick grinned at him, showing off two tiny teeth on top and two on the bottom. When he smiled, his eyes went all squinty and Pete was surprised into laughing. He was kinda cute.

The baby laughed in response, loud and delighted, waddling inside Pete's fort. He tripped over a cushion and tumbled to the floor; Pete lunged towards him, hoping he wouldn't wail and maybe his mother would blame him, but Patrick rolled over onto his back, kicked his little chubby legs in a display of glee and grabbed two handfuls of Pete's hair to help himself up.

"Owww!" Pete rubbed his sore head when Patrick finally got to his feet. Patrick gave him a huge kiss on his nose, laughed right in his face and flopped back onto a pile of pillows Pete used as his fancy bed. He seemed amused over _everything_ and Pete found that he couldn't complain when the baby discovered his Optimus Prime, the toy one that could transform just like on TV (only Petey had to move everything, but that was okay).

"Don't eat him," Pete said when Patrick started gnawing on Optimus' head. Pete gaped at him. "You _can't_ eat Optimus Prime!"

Apparently, Patrick was firmly entrenched in the camp of the Decepticons, because he just kept chewing and grinning at Pete.

And all through, he hummed. Pete listened to see if it was something from TV, but it wasn't. It sounded more like one of those Christmas songs that was on the radio all the time nowadays.

"Petey! Bring Patrick to the kitchen, honey, we're gonna have some lunch!"

"Okay!" Pete held out his hand to the baby, who eyed it with deep interest. "Let's go, Patrick. Lunchtime."

For a moment, Patrick just kept humming and trying to take off Optimus' head with his teeth; then, he put his hand in Pete's and allowed himself to be led out of the fort.

"You can keep Optimus Prime," Pete whispered to him as he walked slowly, because Patrick kind of wavered everywhere like he was crazy or something. "I like him, but you can keep him."

Patrick finally deigned to cease the gnawing for a moment. "Poptimuz," he intoned quite seriously in his little hoarse voice. He smiled brightly as Pete giggled 'til his ribs nearly burst.

Pete was in such a good mood now that he didn't even mind when his mother said he couldn't keep Patrick for Christmas. She said they would definitely see him again, though; maybe at the park down the road. Or he could come back!

That was cooler than all the Transformers in the world.

_fin_


End file.
